Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really dislike Christmas, but I certainly dislike the never-ending and relentless commercialization of what is supposed to be a religious celebration. I have to credit Amazon for doubling down on the holidays like never before because they’ve made it entirely too easy for people to overspend which in turn requires me to discipline myself like never before. Just too many gadgets, too many commercials and an endless supply of scammers who may be the hardest workers of all during the holidays. For every email I get from friends and family members, I get 100 from scammers and spammers. I’ve slowly been turned into a paranoid person like never before. It feels good to have the holiday over so I can get back to what I call normal (and I use that term loosely).
The post today will be taking a sharp left turn from the holidays to celebrate three things I love: poetry, young children, and Winter. Here are a few samples of great poetry by a few up-and-coming young poets.
The following story took place in Korea in 1967. It was my first Christmas without family and friends, and I really felt that loss. Here’s my story of how a few Korean friends helped make that Christmas one to remember . . .
I’ve talked a great deal over the years about my experiences while serving in the Army. As with any young man or woman serving outside of this country, being away from home and family during the Christmas season for the first time is difficult. In my case I was not only away from family, but I was also in a non-Christian country that seemed to be more than a little primitive to me.
Their religion was primarily Buddhist, and the Christmas holiday meant very little to them. They at times pretended to understand but that was motivated entirely by their desire to make money from visiting Americans.
At the time I was stationed in an area that was primarily populated by rice farmers living in small villages that dotted the northern countryside. There were no paved roads and most villages only had electric power for a few hours a day. For those of us from the United States it was like traveling back in time a hundred years.
I was living almost full time in a local village and actually had my laundry taken by a local woman to a nearby river where it was beaten on the rocks with wooden paddles and soap. That certainly took some getting used to for me. My Korean friends seemed totally befuddled by the entire Christmas holiday bro-ha-ha and sat politely and silently as I tried to explain it to them. They were interested in my stories of Christ and the Magi, but the virgin birth story had them all giggling a little.
Regardless I was determined to have a Christmas celebration so I asked a few of my them for their help in putting up a Christmas tree. They agreed to help but weren’t exactly sure what I was up to. As that project was progressing I had a little old mama-san ask me through an interpreter why would any sane person put a tree inside their home. I was hard pressed to answer her because I didn’t know the reason either. They continued to humor me as I explained other peculiarities that they couldn’t quite grasp.
A week or so later with two Korean friends I hiked up a nearby mountain near a small Buddhist temple to find a tree. We ended up dragging back the sorriest looking bush you could ever imagine, set it up in my hooch, and started to decorate it as best we could. There was a hand-made star on top of the tree (my doing) and a number of pieces of charcoal tied to the branches with twine (their doing). I never had that fully explained to me, but it was what they wanted to do. It had something to do with good luck or good pregnancy or something. Since we had no electricity, they suggested placing candles in and around the tree, but I nixed that idea immediately. The last thing I needed was to burn down my hooch and a portion of the village when my little, dry, and nasty looking tree, burst into flames.
I had some GI decorations I made from C-rations that looked stupid as hell, but the villagers loved it. Later we ate most of the decorations and drank a bottle of really cheap brandy that I’d brought along for the occasion. I presented them each with a small gift of candy and got a little kiss on the cheek from everyone.
It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t sophisticated, but it was heartfelt. Looking back over the years it remains one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had. It also helped endear me to the villagers and them to me. The following Christmas they even arrived with a strange collection of ornaments for my tree and couldn’t wait to once again hear my holiday stories.
I’ve been a homebrewer for more than thirty years. I’ve made thousands of bottles of wine over the years because I’m just not a big fan of beer. My few attempts at making beer were miserable failures or that’s what I’ve been told by the “Beer” people. It was a fun hobby and mostly kept me at home and out of trouble for years. When I notice something related to home brewing, I always save it for later use. This post has been in my files for a lot of years, and I can’t even remember where it came from, so I dusted it off, and here it is. Maybe next Christmas it might motivate some of you “Beer” people give it a try.
“TWAS THE HOMEBREWER’S NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS”
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, Every creature was thirsty, including the mouse… The steins were empty, and the bottles were too The beer had been drunk with no time to brew.
My family was nestled all snug in their beds While visions of Christmas Ale foamed in their heads. Mama in her kerchief lamented the drought, She craved a pilsner and I, a large stout.
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter. Away to the kitchen, I flew like a flash, Opening the door with a loud bang and crash!
I threw on the switch and the lights, all aglow, Gave a luster of mid-day to the brew-pot below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear But Gambrinus himself, the patron of beer.
With a look in his eye, so lively and quick, He said, “You want beer? Well, here, take your pick.” More rapid than eagles, his recipes came As he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
“Now, Pilsener! Now, Porter! Now, Stout and Now Maerzen! On, Bitter! On, Lager! On, Bock and On Weizen!” “To the top of the bottles, the short and the tall, Now brew away, brew away, and fill them all!”
As dried hops before a wild hurricane fly, And then, without warning, settle down with a sigh, So towards the brew-pot, the ingredients flew, Malt extract, roasted barley and crystal malt, too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard it quite plain, The cracking open of each barley grain. As I drew in my head and was turning around, Into the kitchen, he came with a bound.
He was dressed like a knight, from his head to his toes, With an old family crest adorning his clothes. A bundle of hops, he had flung on his back, And the brewing began when he opened his pack.
His hops were so fragrant! His barley, how sweet! The adjuncts included Munich malt and some wheat. The malted barley was mashed in the tun, Then boiled with hops in the brew-pot ’till done.
Excitement had me gnashing my teeth, As the sweet smell encircled my head like a wreath. Beer yeast was pitched, both lager and ale, The wort quickly fermented; not once did it fail.
It was then krausened, or with sugar primed, And just being bottled when midnight had chimed. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know, I’d be shortly in bed.
He spoke not a word but kept on with his work, And capped all the bottles, then turned with a jerk. And laying a finger alongside his nose, He belched (quite a burp!) before he arose.
Clean-up was easy, with only a whistle, And away the mess flew, like the down on a thistle. And I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he left me the beer, “Merry Christmas to all and a HOPPY New Year!”
To continue the Christmas theme for this week I thought a few comments and cartoons concerning the holidays was badly needed. This short poem from the late and great Benny Hill should start things off properly.
Roses are reddish
Violets are bluish
If it weren’t for Christmas
We’d all be Jewish.
🎅🏻
He was no Edgar Allen Poe, but he always seemed to get his messages across. These next two tidbits were a contribution by our oldest favorite writer and poet, Anonymous.
The three stages of a man’s life:
1. He believes in Santa Claus.
2. He doesn’t believe in Santa Claus;
3. He is Santa Claus.
🎄
“Christmas is Christ’s revenge for the crucifixion.”
⭐
And finally, a few quotes from celebrities or former celebrities.
“I stopped believing in Santa Claus when my mother took me to see
him in a department store, and he asked for my autograph.”
Shirley Temple
✨
Santa Claus has the right idea: Visit people once a year.”
Years ago, I posted this story more as therapy for myself than anything else. I suffer from a nagging case of Santa PTSB that recurs every December. I want it known that I was fighting terrorism as a six-year-old long before it became fashionable. Reposting this story helps me with my Santa issues like nothing else can. That big fat and jolly SOB is known in our house as Osama Bin Santa and the only difference between him and other terrorists is that Santa loves victimizing young children. With that in mind here’s my scary and terrifying Christmas story straight from 1955.
🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻
As a young child my parents made every attempt to make Christmas memorable for my sister and me. My sister was very young and I was just turning 6 years old. I still firmly believed all the stories about Santa’s elves and all the other good stuff. In the back of my young mind there was a seed of skepticism secretly growing. I was beginning to have serious doubts about Santa and my parents as well. A lot of what I was being told by my trusted family members wasn’t what I was hearing on the street (school yard). My friends had almost convinced me that the whole Santa thing was just BS and that the adults were actually the real gift givers. I think it was at that early age that my trust issues with authority figures first began.
My parents began to suspect I was wavering, and their propaganda was now falling on deaf ears. In a conspiracy involving my mother, her sister, my grandparents, and my dad it was decided that drastic action was immediately necessary to convince me that Santa was the real deal. I’d been acting out a lot and being a little disrespectful to my elders, so it was time for Santa to step in and straighten me out once and for all.
It was the week before Christmas and we were visiting my grandparents. I was being a huge pain in the ass as usual like a lot of six-year-olds can be at that time of the year. It was just after dark and I was walking through the house down a narrow hallway towards the kitchen. It was dark outside and as I passed the window I glanced over and almost had a six-year-old heart attack. There was Santa looking back at me and smiling a frightening smile. My blood turned cold and I got the hell out of there screaming all the way upstairs to hide under the bed. My parents let me know in no uncertain terms that Santa was out looking for those children who were being good and keeping an eye on those that weren’t. I was on the latter list, of course.
For the next few days, I was a complete angel but after dark I was still nervous about looking out the windows. Santa the terrorist had accomplished his mission. I saw him again on two or three other occasions over the next two Christmases, once at our house, and again in the coal cellar at my grandparents’ home. Unfortunately, I’d already consulted with my knowledgeable friends at the playground, and I was officially a nonbeliever by then. I went along with the charade for as long as possible since my parents were the ones giving me the gifts. They finally had a meeting and decided I was just playing them for extra toys and my game was over.
Skip ahead 25 yearsasI was digging through an old trunk in my aunt’s bedroom. I discovered where Santa had been hiding for all those many years. His retirement consisted of being tucked under a pile of sheets and pillowcases in that old trunk. My aunt laughed until she cried when I confronted her with the Santa costume. We relived a very special and scary Christmas memory and thoroughly enjoyed the special moment.
🎄🎄🎄
What I never told her, or my parents was the lingering collateral damage from their well-meaning actions. To this day during the Christmas season, I’m careful in dark rooms and hallways and try never to look out the windows, NEVER! In the malls and stores where Santa is holding court, I stay the hell away. That guy still scares the bejesus out of me. Terrorism is no joke.
My Christmas season has taken a nasty turn earlier than usual. Just when I thought it was going to be a fun holiday, I made the mistake of visiting a Walmart. Now I’m finally able to return to my man-cave after being bedridden for three days. Even the painkillers weren’t able to improve my attitude. I was smiling a lot, but it was entirely because of the drugs, not the Christmas season. I won’t get into the specifics of the injury but just let it be said that Walmart restrooms can be hazardous to your health if you’re not careful. LOL.
I’ll be spending most of the remainder of the Christmas season stumbling around with a cane being my ever-so-pleasant self with the help of a few cannabis gummies and additional painkillers. Unfortunately, I was also forced to miss out on all of the decorating being done in the house (I’m so sad!). My better-half turned into an insane Christmas elf and if you were stupid enough to stand anywhere near her you would have been immediately covered with tinsel, garlands and small twinkling lights. My Christmas in hell fantasy had finally come to life. LOL again.
I searched and found another Christmasy cartoon that made me smile a little. I hope it properly conveys my Christmas message in a manner you can all appreciate.
I’ve spent most of my day dealing with a belligerent computer program that refuses to do its job. I shouldn’t be too upset since it’s a program I purchased about 10 years ago. I suspect that it has finally gotten to the point where my new computer is more than it can handle. It was a program used to write what I spoke. Now I’ll be forced to step back a few years and begin typing everything myself. I suppose I’ve gotten a little lazy over the years relying on that software. That being said I’m posting a few limericks today that were originally written sometime prior to 1960. Enjoy them unedited.
I thought today I’d make a quick comment about some of the responses I received to my Inappropriate Humor dirty jokes post. For those of you out there that don’t read everything, that’s why I rated the post an “R”, and I put warnings in the graphics to keep it out of the hands of kids or the blind, dumb, and stupid non-readers. It never occurred to me that there were adults out there who would respond to humor like a bunch of babies. So, to all of you prudes out there, just get over it. If you don’t like what I post, stop reading the blog and go elsewhere. You won’t be missed.
This post is filled with pearls-of-wisdom posted at one time or another by that very famous writer and philosopher, Anonymous. Celebrities and politicians are forever looking for soundbites to get little attention, but Anonymous could care less about offending anyone. Here are fifteen quotes you may enjoy but if your one of the overly sensitive minorities I recommend you leave my blog now and go read the Bible . . . .
“Churches welcome all denominations, but most prefer fives and tens.“
“And an optimist is someone who thinks the future is uncertain.“
“There are few problems in life that wouldn’t be eased by the proper application of high explosives.“
“Physics lesson: When a body is submerged in water, the phone rings.“
“Is sex better than drugs? That depends on the pusher.“
“Until I get married, I was my own worst enemy.“
“Monogamy leaves a lot to be desired.“
“There is nothing wrong with teenagers that reasoning with them won’t aggravate.“
“Christmas is Christ’s revenge for the crucifixion.“
I’m reasonably sure that most of us are familiar with the saying “Kilroy was here.” I’m also sure that most of us (especially non-military folk) haven’t a clue where it came from and how it’s managed to survive since its creation early in World War II. Here’s part of that story . . .
The exact creation of this image has never been discovered. It began appearing early in World War II and was found on ships, railroad cars, bunkers, fences, the occasional fighter plane, bombs, and the occasional torpedo.
In 1946, just after the war ended, the American Transit Association began a search for the real Kilroy and offered a real trolley car as the prize. Approximately 40 men tried to claim the prize, which was eventually awarded to 46-year-old James J. Kilroy of Halifax, Massachusetts. The judges thought that his story was the most convincing. During the war, Kilroy was an inspector at the Bethlehem Steel shipyard in Quincy, Massachusetts, that produced ships for the military effort. Kilroy discovered that he was being asked to inspect the same ship bottoms and tanks again and again, so he devised a way to keep track of his work. He used a yellow crayon and wrote “Kilroy was here.” in big block letters on the hatches and surfaces of the ships he inspected. The same ships then made their way overseas with Kilroy’s inscriptions intact. Also, over the course of the war, 14,000 shipyard employees also enlisted, most of whom went overseas as well. No one knows who first decided to imitate the crayon scrawled words, but before long, soldiers saw them everywhere. It became common practice for the first soldier into a new area to pull out a piece of chalk and let those behind him know that Kilroy had already been there too.
True or not James J. Kilroy story convinced the judges and won the contest. What did he do with the trolley car? Kilroy had a big family, so he attached a 50 foot long, 12-ton trolley car to his house and used it as a bedroom for six of his nine children.
Just as an aside, I can’t tell you how many times when I was in the Army both here in the US and overseas, I discovered very quickly that “Kilroy was (already) here.” It was scrawled everywhere. Once while in Korea I was climbing through a deserted gun emplacement in the hills near Inchon. There was old graffiti on the walls from some Turkish soldiers which I couldn’t read and right next to them was a huge “Kilroy was here!” Most recently and most poignant was this magazine photo taken at the home of Osama bin Laden just after his capture.
TRUTHFULLY, I CONFESS TO PLACING “KILROY” ON A FEW THINGS MYSELF.
everyuselessthing.com 